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Heads turned as local rider, Ty, sauntered forward. Smoothing down his plaid shirt, fringed chaps flapping over his silver cowboy boots, he strutted confidently towards the competitors’ area, pausing only as his elderly grandpa proudly slapped a large Stetson on his head, yelling, “Go Tiger!” We watched Ty being shoved over the gate and aboard his mount, teeth clenched in anticipation, before the cowboys sprang the bar and released the pair into the ring.

At just six years old, Ty was the oldest “Mutton Bustin’” rider: the highlight of the rodeo, where fearless under-sixes delight spectators by riding bucking sheep. As he careered into view, his seniority was evident in his handling of the sheep to whose neck he was now grimly clinging. He had managed to grip the furious beast’s woolly coat, and although he was being bucked and tossed, he achieved a ride of a commendable few seconds before his reluctant host managed to fling him into the dirt and charge off, irritated. The crowd leapt up, stamping on the metal bleachers and roaring his name as the colourful rodeo clown, more usually employed to distract an infuriated bull, hoisted the small child aloft to face them triumphantly.

In Mitchell, South Dakota, riding enraged creatures is a way of life and kids start young, mutton bustin’ at ages four to six. Streams of tiny youngsters followed Ty. Parents plonking them on the backs of increasingly temperamental sheep who shot out of the gates in a flurry of hooves, dust and the occasional baby tooth. Children dreamed of the glory of their big brothers who tackle vertebrae-shattering rides on bulls and broncos, or of their sisters, barrel racing horses around circuits so tight their knees drag in the dust. But for now they had to be content with the placid-looking sheep.

Little Jessica was now determined to follow Ty. As the sheep was reversed into the pen, clearly equally determined not to be ridden, a war of wills ensued. Jessica tried a new technique which drew sighs of admiration from the crowd; squeezing her knees up and pressing her head down, she was able to stretch her arms around the startled sheep’s neck as the gate flew open. Unfortunately, this plan had a flaw, due to the lack of a saddle, an uncertain centre of gravity, and sheer animal fury. As the pair galloped forth, the announcer was shrieking with disbelief as the sheep appeared with Jessica now slung beneath it like a wailing Odysseus. The sheep tipped yet another thrill-seeker into the dirt and trotted off smugly.

Jessica and Ty were unconcerned. Better to live one day as a tiger than a thousand as a sheep.

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